


About Last Night

by crewdlydrawn



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bucky's POV, Bucky's metal hand used creatively, Depression, F/M, Loneliness, M/M, Nervousness, One Shot, Past Suicidal Thoughts, Polyamory, Stucky - Freeform, Stucky frames the story but the point is Bucky and Nat, Super Soldier Balls, Vaginal Fingering, mention of Bucky remembering meeting Natasha while under Hydra's care, that will make sense after, there's a chance this may be strangely organized, winterwidow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 04:04:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10586058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crewdlydrawn/pseuds/crewdlydrawn
Summary: Bucky is on the road to healing, but even so, Steve being gone on missions and leaving Bucky alone in the apartment makes him feel lonely.  An unexpected visitor comes to check on him, with plans of her own for cheering him up...





	

It was the kiss that woke him—not its perpetrator slipping through latched doorways, not their steps, only the pressure of lips on his own.

Bucky had allowed himself too much ease in the space he'd settled into with Steve. 

"You okay, Buck?"

With a rumble born more from sleep than the effort of conversation, Bucky shifted to his back, letting the blood flow more freely down his right arm.  "Yeah... just asleep.  Or I _was_ ," he teased.

An unapologetic smile curled quietly into Steve's cheeks, and Bucky felt warmer for it.  "How was your weekend?"

Steve hadn't been able to contact anyone for the last three days—three days, seven hours, and fourteen minutes, if the clock beside their bed could be trusted—and while he wasn't in extreme danger, anymore, they both knew time alone was still the last thing Bucky needed.  A shrug shifted his shoulders along the heavy sheet beneath them.  "It was fine."

"Did Nat come check on you?"

Bucky froze, only for a moment, his lungs disobeying his brain and closing just for the briefest of seconds, but he knew it was too late even as he soothed his nerves.  "Uh, yeah, she came by."

A dirty-blond eyebrow slowly peaked, and Bucky knew he had no chance of explaining _later_ , as he'd planned.  "Did something happen?"

 _Damn him_.  "What do you mean?"  Bucky remained still, not a fingertip tapping, not a servo spinning. 

Steve, the menace, grinned wildly.  "So THAT'S why you didn't hear me come in, huh?  Too relaxed?"

"Jerk."

"Punk."  Steve smushed Bucky's face to the side, into his own pillow, and leaned down to rub the end of his nose into the crook of Bucky's neck.  It was a familiar action, and followed quickly by a bite that, while not breaking the skin, would certainly leave a mark for several hours. 

" _OW_ ," he spoke pointedly, evenly, and without any actual pain. 

"You'll live," Steve announced, releasing his face and pulling his own head away.  His back remained bent, leaned closely over Bucky's frame, and for a moment Bucky missed those golden bangs that would have been covering his eyes, never listening to reason or fingers tucking them back and away.   Even so, he traced the tips of his right hand's fingers along the edge of Steve's forehead, a memory of a familiar motion. 

"Probably."  He gave Steve a smile, an offering, and a hope of changing the subject.  It didn't work.

"So how was Nat?"

Bucky swallowed hard.

"I haven't seen her since before I left," Steve added, though despite his casual words, Bucky could hear the very faint tickle of laughter desperate to leave his throat.

"She told you," he decided to end the game before Steve got too much more enjoyment out of it, "didn't she."

That near-leering grin returned, and it was Bucky's turn to smash a hand into Steve's face. 

_____________________

"It's a long way down, Barnes," spoke a soft voice from behind his left shoulder. 

Its owner had been inside the apartment's space for over a minute, making a clear entrance, an obvious movement through the living area, and had settled their frame against the open balcony door a moment or two before speaking.  Bucky appreciated the efforts, though he would recognize any of Steve's team by their own stealthy movements.  This one, even more so. 

"I'm not jumping," he threw back, voice only just loud enough for her ears, eyes watching the street below over the edge of the balcony wall's railing.  It _was_ a long way down, but he was past the point of wanting to find out how that long space of air felt against his skin, again—at least, for the most part.  There was a distant memory of that knowledge, but it had been twisted in his mind beyond recognition.  He could still clearly recall the feeling of wanting it, though, and some days, the call of its promise of _quiet_ inside his mind was louder and stronger than others, taking more effort to ignore.  The fact that those days tended to coincide with Steve’s absences was a fact he kept to himself.

"Didn't say you were, now did I?"  There was a tease in her voice, one she used with everyone Bucky had ever seen her with since he'd returned to Steve, but he knew she had others she kept hidden away. 

Turning, breeze blowing into his face the strands of hair that didn't like staying behind his ears, he leaned his back against the rail.  "You got babysitting duty?"   Steve hated when he called it that, but it certainly felt much the same.  Having it was fair, he acknowledged that just fine, but that didn't make the feeling any weaker.

"Yeah, well, Sam was busy, so..."   Letting the quip sit in the air for a few seconds, Natasha flashed him a smile, crossing her arms just beneath her chest.  Every outward signal of body language suggested she was relaxed, that she was comfortable with no need to guard herself—Bucky knew better. 

Bucky knew _her_ better.  And not just because of the time that had passed since he’d been allowed to stay with Steve.

The longer his mind remained unwiped, without someone digging around inside his head, turning things inside out, the more old memories filtered back up through the mire.  Not every moment he'd been awake and warm, alive and aware, had been spent on missions and travel.  There had been others, at times, who were being trained near him, who he had been assigned to test, and not just the other serum recipients.  He had a vivid memory, though in images only, as of yet, of a shock of red waves atop a young girl's head, of graceful, deadly motions.  She had taken him to the floor, the first time she'd come at him—he hadn't underestimated her, after that. 

The woman before him now, however, was not quite the same.  Older, yes, and hard in a similar way, but much more alive.  He could appreciate the difference. 

"You don't need to stay, Natasha; I'm fine."   Walking past her, careful not to bump or brush against her body or clothing, he slid back into the apartment's kitchen, going for a cold bottle of water.  In another life, he would have kept alcohol instead, but he found it had little to no effect on him, anymore.  It kind of ruined the concept.

Sliding the outer door partway along its tracks behind her, Natasha followed him, slickly stealing the water bottle to dump some of its contents into her mouth before handing it back.  "You're a big boy, I know," she assured him after swallowing, "but I did promise our friend."  Taking his small scowl in stride as he finally got to drink his own water, she smiled, then titled her head.  "You don't want me disappointing Steve I-don't-get-mad-I-get-even Rogers, do you?"

The snort leaving his nose nearly made Bucky aspirate his drink.  Swiping the back of his hand over his mouth once he'd safely swallowed, he rolled his eyes.  "As easy as that is to do, no, I suppose not."  Capping the bottle, he continued past her again, rubbing at his temples as he sat down on one end of the single couch taking up most of the furniture percentage of their main room.   There had been more pieces when they'd moved in, but having too many things didn't feel like home to either of them, and they'd given most of it away within a week or two. 

“So how long are you supposed to sit in with me?”  He was fairly certain Steve would have given incredibly specific instructions.  It was Steve, after all.

Natasha, however, shrugged, following him once more, to sit on the opposite end of the couch cushions with one knee drawn and bent so that she faced him better.  Bucky found himself instinctively wanting to move further over, just for space, and silently mocked himself for how differently he once might have acted at a beautiful woman sitting so near to him.  Neither set of actions were incorrect or wrong, he could acknowledge, but the difference was stark, certainly.

“Just long enough to make sure you’re doing fine,” she began, watching him closely as she spoke, and not even taking a breath before continuing, “you having nightmares?”  His head’s sharp turn to face her had her spreading her hands for a moment.  “People who watch traffic from twenty stories up tend to have had some bad-thoughts, recently.”

There was little use in outright lying.  “They’re all I have,” he spoke flatly.  A regular, nonsensical dream or two now and again would have been nice.

“I know how that feels.”

Bucky was sure she likely did.  What little he remembered held its own implications, but the files she herself had leaked from SHIELD spoke volumes on her life experiences.  With not much else to do with his time, Bucky had spent hours poring over the releases, particularly as they pertained to Steve and those closest to him.  It could never be the same as having _been there_ , but it made him feel less like a stranger.  All things were not equal, but she had her own skeletons hiding in the shadows.

“Do you wanna talk about ‘em?”  It was subtle, maybe, the shift in her voice, her words, but he saw the intentional familiarity for what it was, not taking the bait.  “We don’t have to.  Whatever you need, I can be here for.” 

Reaching forward across the short cushions, she patted his thigh just above his knee, a touch so unexpected that he jumped, effectively crushing the plastic bottle in his left hand.  Even half-empty, it sprayed water upward, and down over the floor and his lower pantleg. 

“Well that’s not how I expected that to go.”  There was more than a tease to her tone, he noted as he set the bottle on the floor where it would be safer.   A twinkle lit her eyes, and he caught the double meaning after a second or two, finding himself torn between recognizing it as a joke he, himself, would have made to Steve, and gauging how concerned he should be over the fact she had used his distraction to scoot all the way across the cushions.

Her half-smirk felt more comfortable than he would have thought, and he settled for the joke.  “Yeah, well it’s been a while.”

Brows shot up faster than the water had left the bottle.

“…Since a d— _woman_ … uh…”  Quitting while he was ahead, he pursed his lips, flicking a brow and turning to stare out the window, instead.  _Smooth._

“Just Steve?”  Commendably, there was no hint of amusement or tease in her voice, this time, only curiosity.

“Just Steve,” he confirmed, finding her watching him, still, when he turned back.  There were readily visible inches between their legs, and for those he was grateful, but there felt like no space at all from her face to his own, especially so when she requested a question.  “…Yeah, go ahead.”

Blue-green eyes had drifted from staring holes into his own, instead aimed down just enough to target his mouth, flicking back up only after she spoke.  “Can I kiss you?”

“Why?”  He couldn’t help but wonder.

Her smile was indulgent, almost but not quite like she might have made were he a child asking the same word over something rather simple.  “I'm attracted to you.  Judging from that reaction a moment ago, I’m pretty sure it’s mutual.  And Steve's talked about you for a long while—I almost feel like I’ve known you for longer than I have.”

 _I’m not Steve!_ he wanted to shout, to warn.  Instead, he spoke quietly, a conversation he’d had many times already with Steve.  “I'm not sure that ‘me’ is still around.”

“I know that feeling, too.” 

Bucky thought about that, weighed it, then decided to hell with it and leaned to end up making the first move himself, pressing a brief kiss over her lips.  Before he could apologize for the sudden motion, their mouths met again, and Natasha was leaning into his side for better access, no more inches of space.  After a few moments, at the sensation of a warm tongue over his own, he pulled back.

“I shouldn't,” he answered the questioning pull to her brows.

“Shouldn't?” 

It took a handful of seconds to find the right words.  “Steve... is a lot harder to hurt by accident.”

The indulgent smile returned, followed by a reassuring tone.  “You won't hurt me.”  In lieu of responding aloud, Bucky tilted his head, shooting her a look, in argument, from beneath his brows.  Rolling her eyes, Natasha let out a false sigh.  “Fine... put it behind your back, then.”

“…What?”

A flutter at her lips nearly turned into a giggle.  “Your _arm_.”

“Oh.”  He hesitated, knowing that doing so would be an invitation, an agreement, but at length he slipped his left arm back between his waist and the cushion behind him.  The argument that the rest of him was also dangerous remained unmade. 

“There we are,” she smirked, and in an instant had straddled his lap, shifting to get herself comfortable before leaning right back in for another kiss.  This one was deeper, lingering, her hands braced for the moment on his stomach, though he had no doubt she could balance just fine without their help.

On a breath, he huffed a laugh.  "Pretty sure this isn't why Steve asked you to stop by..."  He had yet to actually place his free hand on any part of her body.

Natasha’s response didn’t skip a beat.  "It'd be pretty hypocritical of him to mind it, though."

“You...?"

She rolled her shoulders, brows bunching in the manner of playful, sarcastic sass that followed the majority of her breaths.  "Sometimes missions are tense, you know?  Gotta get your aggressions out _some_ where, or you start freaking out on people."

Bucky found himself starting to wonder why Steve hadn’t mentioned anything about it.  "So it's convenience?"

"Well it's not as if we don't care about each other... but yeah,” relaxed, now, one brow flicked upward in emphasis, “it's just more friendship than romance, if that's what you mean."

"So what's this, then?"  His eyes did the work of gesturing between them, his hands unmoved.

Her smile turned sultry, all offering.  "What do you want it to be, Barnes?"

Bucky clicked his tongue, grimacing.  "Pick something else."

"What?"  Those ruddy brows pinched again, in confusion. 

"Don't call me 'Barnes', okay?  Pick something else."  His entire childhood and adolescence had been spent under his nickname, other than his mom, and in adulthood, his rank... with Hydra, he was rarely personally addressed, spoken about as 'The Asset', or 'Soldier'... but he had filtering memories of Zola referring to him as 'Barnes', and he received the same moniker from Tony Stark with no lack of coldness.  If she wanted to be closer, even casually so, that wasn't going to help. 

Pausing, Natasha thought for a moment, resettling her weight in his lap.  It felt like odd timing, having this woman kiss him, edge toward intimate touches, offering herself, and yet still trying to figure out what to _call_ him.  "I know he calls you 'Bucky'—"

"Most people do," he interrupted, despite knowing full well that 'most people' in this time didn't refer to him at all, or directly avoided doing so. 

"Yeah, but it feels more like his deal."

"That'd leave you with 'James', if you wanted it."  No one called him James—no one but his _mom,_ who wasn’t exactly around to argue the point—but it wasn't as if he didn't like the name just fine. 

"James..." she breathed quietly, seeming to test the weight and feel of the word on her tongue.  "James," was spoken more firmly, her eyes locked on his, watching for reaction. 

A tiny tremor flicked through his lips at hearing the name on a woman's voice once again, and their corners ticked just slightly upward, though his mouth remained closed. 

"Oh, I think you like that one," she teased, tilting her head forward to press her lips over the stretched edges of his own, each side in turn.  "James..."  This time was spoken lower, more intimately, and the shiver went through his spine, instead, as she slid her fingers under the collar of his shirt, curling their graceful arches around his neck. 

“Natasha,” he responded in a murmur, reminding his mouth just in time that _‘Natalia’_ would probably not be an appropriate increased-familiarity option in return.  He’d have to ask about it another time.

Working around the distraction of her tongue, Bucky finally raised his right hand away from the couch cushion, settling his palm at her waist, fingers shifting along the hem of her shirt that didn’t quite meet her pants while her shoulders were raised.  Both of her hands had moved to bracket his neck, and it took all of his concentration to calm his nerves from reacting to the motion as a threat.  As such, he didn’t notice the tugs to his shirt collar until its stitching met the bottoms of his ears, Natasha releasing his lips only to flick an eyebrow in question as she held the material away from his skin.  By her posture, it was simply the next logical move.  He knew that well enough, but still found himself hesitating. 

That hesitation gave her pause.  She didn’t lower the shirt hem, but instead brushed her thumbs over the stubble covering the corners of his jaw.  “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” she shrugged.  “I won’t be offended, it won’t be awkward; we can just have a few more kisses and then a drink or something.  No harm, no foul.  It’s up to you.”

Bucky swallowed past the sudden dryness in his throat.  “I do… want to.  It’s just—”

“Been a while,” she supplied for him, a small, casual smile tugging at one side of her mouth.

“Yeah.”  He let the word drag along with his exhale, keeping eye contact, letting the breath carry out some of his nerves, or at least attempting to make it.

Her shoulders rolled again, and with a pat from her thumbs to the line of his jaw, she let go of his shirt.  Before he could question the move, she had already grabbed up the opposite sides of the base of her own with her arms crossed, and almost before he could register the wink she shot him, the material was up in front of her face and then swiftly, smoothly, in one fluid motion, up over her head and set aside on the other couch cushion. 

“Beautiful,” he spoke simply, his gaze unlowered.

“Careful,” she cautioned, tugging at the base of his shirt until he let her raise it up and over his head to discard it with her own, “flattery will get you _everywhere_.”  Her smirk was self-satisfied as she resettled her position on his thighs, hands having braced on his hips now tracing over his chest and stomach, following muscle indentations.  "I'm not going to break, James..."  Each use of his name sent another shiver through him, though getting smaller every time.  "You can touch me."

He wanted to argue that he _was_ touching her, even just by the fact that she was in his lap, but there seemed little point in mincing words.  Maybe there was little need for _any_ words, if he wanted to invest.  Deliberating only a moment more, he reached his right hand behind her, trailing fingertips along her spine, then flicking open the hooks of her bra in one snap motion.

The surprised look on her face was worth the effort, and he let a grin spread over his face as he slid the straps down her arms.  She leaned against him, then, once bared, and he could feel the swells of her breasts press flatter against his chest. 

"Steve gets bruises,” Bucky settled his hand about her waist, the touch light still, not pressing into her flesh, “but his fade a lot faster."

"Maybe I like bruises sometimes."

"Maybe I don't want to bruise everyone I touch."

Her look was more fond at that.  "I bet you know how to be careful with it."

Bucky sighed, acknowledging his losing struggle. 

A more mischievous glint in her eyes, head tilting, Natasha ran her right hand over his left shoulder.  “ _On_ that note… Steve’s said it pretty much always stays cold to the touch?”

The shift in the discussion was sudden, and his eyes narrowed.  “It doesn’t absorb heat the same way, no.”

“I see.”  It took several moments, during which her fingers trailed down the length of the limb before she spoke again.  “Can I feel that?”

“You are,” he started, but her eyes flicked up to meet his, and he realized he’d gotten it wrong.  “I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

“You don’t crush Steve when you hold him, right?  I feel like I would have heard about that by now,” she smirked, “or seen the evidence.”  

Bluntness drawing a laugh from him, he couldn’t help acknowledging that that was true, and she shut him up with another kiss, drawing his right hand to her hip, murmuring against his lips that he’d do just fine. 

Not an immediate decision, he at length nodded, and finally slid his arm forward, her hand running down its plates, threading her fingers through his for a moment, fiddling with them. 

“How much do you feel?”

“It’s not the same as the other… but there are pressure sensors, so that it’s practical, useful…”  He stopped himself from getting too detailed in the utilitarian purpose of the arm itself, its creation, its origins.  There was too much weight, there, to drop into a delicate situation.  That sort of balance had yet to come with time.

“So you’d be able to pull a grenade pin, punch someone, _and_ know if you were choking them properly, right?”  He words were almost clinical, but in it, and in the tone she kept steady, he felt the same familiar tease she preferred, the commiserative knowledge.

“Basically.”

“I think it’ll do just fine, then.”  As if to further convince him, she leaned heavily forward, one hand on his plated forearm, one brushing his cheek.  Her kiss was deep, distracting, almost disorienting.  Accompanying it with a low grind of her hips drew a groan from his chest, and a lack of their being trapped in place had both hands on her waist in a gentle squeeze.

A chuckle separated them.  “I knew you’d do just fine.”  There was a smirk in her voice as well as on her face, a knowing shine in her eyes, and it struck him as so similar to Steve’s treatment of him that he was even less surprised the two had found further pleasure in each other’s company. 

It was just that familiar sass that put him over the edge of hesitance.  In a quick but cautiously executed move, he grasped her waist from opposite sides, lifting and turning her in his lap so that she instead faced the outer wall, her back pressed to his chest.  Her frame was small, slight in its own tightly toned way, but moving her felt more like his hands were following where her body was already headed, in full control despite him making the move first.

“Oh, I see,” came her completely unruffled response, only shifting her bottom to settle more solidly against his groin.  Like a cat, her frame stretched this way and that, searching for the most comfortable position.  Once still enough, she gathered up his right wrist, trying to guide his hand towards her chest, but he held it back, fingers only brushing the soft skin at her stomach.

Ignoring her nasal noise of complaint, he found a small notch of scar tissue on the side of her abdomen, and his memory tingled for a moment.  Mission reports mixed with first-person memories, overlaying medical histories and files.  “Mine?” 

She nodded, hand resting over his. 

“Sorry.” 

The movement in her shoulders was much less pronounced.  “Wasn’t you.”

“Still did it.”  Much, much more than simple apologies were owed for far too many years.

“I’m sure Steve has this argument _much_ better than I can, hmm?”

He laughed in a light exhale, unable to argue the point.  Allowing himself to refocus, he rested his right hand on her upper abdomen, thumb nestled just below the crease of her left breast, the upper bend of his wrist beneath the opposite. 

Curiosity only barely overshadowed incredulity in her voice.  “You stopping there?” 

“No need to rush,” he explained, receiving only a hum in return. 

Bringing his left hand forward, he drew his fingertips lightly across the line of her waist.  Her shiver brought a smirk to his lips, and he wondered at what point in her visit he’d started enjoying himself just for the sake of enjoying himself.  Sneaky. 

Dipping just below the waistband of her pants, snug as they were to her skin, he waited a moment to hear her urge him forward, verbal confirmation, and then sank his hand to the base of her belly, fingers sensing the details of her shape below.

A sigh eased from her, and Bucky carefully slid lower, ears tuned closely to her breathing, paying as much attention to her reactions as he was to exactly where his fingers were headed.  Even with less sensory information, he was aware of the crease of her labia, of how they parted at his touch, and he pressed on to unveil the folds beneath.  He kept the pressure light, a careful wave of motion.

Once he had a finger nestled firmly between her outer lips, he asked aloud for permission.  She breathed out a yes, and he reached lower, right hand rising just enough to cup and hold the swell of her breast, thumb resting a barely-there touch to her nipple, feeling the pebbled skin firm up beneath the contact.  Taking a breath for his own sake, he rested his chin between her shoulder and neck, keeping her close, in full skin contact, as he delved into her, rolling the pressured grasp from palm to fingertips and back, feeling the hitch in her chest beneath his fingers as cool metal entered her. 

“Oh…  It _does_ stay cool…”  She chuckled, but it ended in an exhaled hum and a shudder through her frame once he added a second finger to the first, rocking from the wrist, careful not to pinch too tightly.  While he was no stranger to the act, he had never put his mechanics to that particular use.

The angle became not a worry as she told him to freeze, carefully shifting her weight on her legs.  “Don’t change it… just like that,” she ordered, her breath heavied from the motions.  He obeyed, and with his hand locked in position, its palm dividing the mounds of her lips, two fingers curled below and tucked inside of her, Natasha rolled her hips forward towards his hand, a much louder moan loosing from her mouth.

Bucky grinned against her neck.  “Smart.”

Her laugh was mostly lost to panted breaths as she continued, her own hands digging dents into the muscle in his thighs for leverage.  Loosely curled locks swept over his face before she tossed them aside, leaning her head back against his shoulder.  He could see her eyes were closed, and he watched her, each twitch to her mouth, the way her lower lip was sucked between her teeth—just for a moment.  Obediently still with his left, Bucky explored the skin of her breasts with his right hand, kneading at their swells, rolling her nipples between his forefinger and thumb in turn, giving only the lightest of pinches in time with her hips.

It wasn’t that long before her breath quickened, and he watched every detail of her face as her body shook, pleasure overtaking her.  A satisfied smirk swiftly followed the more relaxed expression, and she at last released her grasp on his thighs, patting his forearms in gratitude.

“You only wanted me for my arm, huh.” 

“And if I did?”  She had made no move to lose contact.

“Then I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Damn,” she complained, lips pursed in false frustration, “you weren’t supposed to answer _nicely_ …”

He breathed a quiet laugh through his nose, slowly easing his fingers out of her, circling them, stroking them upward before at last freeing his hand from her pants.  “Was I supposed to be indignant?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she confirmed, lifting her legs in a quick rotation to land her body once again facing his, one fluid motion.  “Indignant and a little bit selfish, demanding your turn.”

“Oh, my turn?”  The exchange had turned ever more playful as it went, and Bucky was surprised to find that he felt comfortable in it. 

“You didn’t think I’d leave you out, did you?”  Eyes on his, her fingers trailed down his bare stomach, her palm resting heavily on the center seam of his pants.

“I guess I had some hopes,” Bucky returned, leaning further back into the couch’s cushions, working not to jostle her off of his legs, but giving some room to work with.

She only smirked, eyes locked with his while unbuttoning the folded front of his drawstring pants.  Fishing a hand inside and into his boxers, she deftly maneuvered his shaft through both openings, freeing it from any constraining materials.  There was that ever-present cold sensation coming from being exposed suddenly to open air, and Bucky was dimly aware that they had never fully shut the balcony door.

Hands bracketing her waist, squeezing gently in encouragement, he didn’t have to look down to know exactly how hard his dick was in her grasp.  Slender fingers had already given several slow slides over its length in greeting, and were now paused, supporting, Natasha’s face having turned pensive with a downward glance. 

“…What?”

“Can I do something?”

Bucky’s eyebrows rose.  “Aren’t you?”

With permission understood, Natasha chuckled, shifting her weight back towards his knees, then continuing straight off his legs to stand.  His curiosity reached new heights just as understanding clicked, her knees sinking to the floor between his own.

“Scoot closer?” she asked, her tone directing, her hand open, waiting for him to once again be in reach.  Eyes widening, Bucky gladly shifted towards the edge of the couch, his back at an even longer angle.

Taking hold once again, Natasha aimed her gaze down, fingertips feeling over the small folds and vein-raised lines of his skin.  “So… do you shoot more than normal, like Steve?”  The question came out of nowhere, her face pinched as it turned upward, amusement lingering behind a mask of nearly scientific curiosity.

A laugh shook his frame, dipping his stomach down with it.  The fact that she knew to _ask_ the question was as amusing as the question itself.  “Yeah.  It lets off more than it used to, before everything got messed with.”

“I see…”  She let the word trail off as she shifted his shaft this way and that, feigning an examination, a small frown turning her mouth down at the corners.  “Super-Soldier Balls.” 

While she barely kept a straight face, Bucky couldn’t hold in a sharp laugh—one that turned to a breathless gasp as she used his vulnerability as an opportunity to slide the tip of his cock into her mouth, closing her lips around its head.  Bucky swore none-too-politely, though the reaction only seemed to please her. 

Whether out of mercy or preference, she didn’t move overly slowly while she had him in her grasp.  Still paying attention to the shape of his shaft, to each fold and rise, she hollowed her cheeks to suck firmly, slender fingers playing out their own grip and rhythm from the base of him. 

Toying with the ends of her hair with his right hand, Bucky could feel his breathing speed up, hitching in his throat when she looked up to meet his eyes.  “Getting close,” he warned, voice uneven.

“I’ll take it,” she announced, leaving him exposed only for a second, “if that’s okay with you.”  With a wink, she lowered her lips, making a show of flicking her tongue over the slit of his head. 

Exhaling sharply, Bucky gripped at the couch cushion beneath his left thigh.  “Yeah,” the word came out flat, sarcastic, “that’s okay with me.”

He swore she would have giggled if not for her mouth being occupied.

With a last spoken warning, Bucky let the pressure build without resistance, his head tipping back as he felt the rush release.  He could feel her mouth constrict and pull him further inside as she swallowed… twice.  The second he felt her lips retreat, he leaned forward, grabbing up her waist in both hands and pulling her back up into his lap.  No space left, he kissed her deeply, holding her body against him, his own still shaking as it began to calm.  A shiver ran through her frame as metal cinched its hold around her back, and her arms slipped around his neck.

After a few moments, he carefully reached his right hand to work his softened dick back into his pants, the exposure threatening to turn awkward, and the position less comfortable. 

“I hope that hand cleans up well,” Natasha remarked, leaning back without drawing her arms away, glancing towards his gleaming shoulder plates.

Chuckling only with a nasal exhale, Bucky nodded.  “It’s fine.”

“Sure you won’t rust?”  Her eyes were sparkling with the tease, and Bucky couldn’t help leaning to kiss her again.

“I’m not the Tin Man,” he defended, smiling. 

She hummed, leaning to the side to reach for her shirt, slipping it over her head and shoulders without bothering with the bra first.  “I guess we’d just have to keep it oiled regularly, if you were, huh.”

Bucky found himself impressed with how dirty her expression and tone became, despite having covered back up, moving the moment back towards casual.  Moving in that direction was fine by him, still offering an opportunity for a less-quiet apartment and a less-noisy mind. 

“So,” he began slowly, following her lead by tugging his own shirt back over his frame, “someone said something about a drink?” 

_____________________

“That good, huh?”  Steve recovered well enough from even a metal-plated hand to the face, pressing that face close to Bucky’s.

Taking swift advantage, Bucky pressed up to kiss him firmly, opting to nip at his lower lip in reprimand.  “You don’t need details.”

No complaint followed the bite, but instead a low, throaty chuckle.  “You’re right,” Steve tilted his head, “I don’t… because I have some already.”  Meeting Bucky’s eyes, Steve’s practically sparkled.  “James.”

“That. Snitch.”  Bucky let each word drop and stand fully alone, waiting for the second Steve appeared to begin replying, and then grabbing both of his shoulders, tugging him forward to steal the balance from his feet.  Once he was destabilized, Bucky swiftly rolled, dragging Steve onto the bed with him, a satisfied smirk stretching his lips at the startled sound he drew from him.

Steve, to his credit, sent his body fully with the motion, landing more gracefully than most would have, and recovering instantly—he had Bucky pinned for a heavy kiss before his smirk could fully form, and afterwards slid beneath the sheet to settle beside him.  That weight against the mattress was familiar, soothing, and Bucky aimed his back towards it, his head sinking back to the pillow, and was glad to feel a strong arm drape over him, Steve lending his body’s warmth.

“Did she stay the night?”

Bucky rolled his eyes at the feigned innocence in Steve’s tone, a practiced motion born of exasperation and fondness.  “Yes.  She stayed the night.”

A long, straight nose nestled into the crook of Bucky’s neck again, its breathing softly spreading over his skin.  “Did it help?”  Fingers gently drew small circles along the side of Bucky’s stomach, firm enough not to tickle but light, thoughtful.

Knowing the answer, Bucky still took a moment to think the question over, allowing him to feel that companionship she had given, the ease to his loneliness, even with Steve beside him once again.  Dimly, his mind still grasping in the distance for sleep, he wondered what it would feel like to have them both at once. 

“Yeah,” he spoke quietly, at length, his mind already moved on.

Soft lips pressed a feather-light touch to his neck, and as they settled there, Bucky could feel their pinch and draw, the smile with which Steve settled in for sleep.

“Good.”


End file.
